


take me apart

by spectrenico



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Conditioning, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrenico/pseuds/spectrenico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now awake and told to take a few weeks to heal, Finn is struggling to recover from his old life in the First Order. Poe is also restricted from missions until he undergo a lengthy psych eval. To truly make any progress Finn is going to have to take a good look in the mirror and face himself for the first time since Jakku.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me apart

The reality of it all really hadn't any time to set in.

 

In the heat of battle, the Jakku desert, when he'd gone to rescue Rey--he'd never had time to think. Never had time to breathe. Everything was adrenaline and sweat and impulse, from the moment FN-2003, Slip, smeared his bloody hand across Finn’s helmet and took his final breath--until now. Finn, reluctantly debriefed from the hospital, with an over enthusiastic Poe at his side.

 

Poe clapped Finn on his shoulder, to bring him out of his daze. He'd done that a lot lately. “I'll show you to your quarters, space case.”

 

Quarters. “You mean, the barracks? Bunks?”

 

Poe brushed off Finn’s attempt to correct him easily. “No, your quarters.”

 

Finn was led to a different building not far from the hospital, up a staircase, and finally down a wide hallway. Near the end Poe stopped and swung a door open.

 

It was a small room, and clearly meant for only one or two inhabitants. Finn could feel his head swim. In the First Order most of his life he'd shared with at least 40 guys. Nobody so much as snored without the others, and the Officers, knowing.

 

“This is mine?” Finn felt a little lightheaded at Poe’s bemused nod.

 

“Of course,” Poe said. “You can't just stay in the hospital.”

 

At least the hospital was a little familiar. Barely any colors, blank white walls. A doctor or nurse constantly kept a trained eye on him. Told him what to do.

 

Poe laughed a little, which made Finn realize he was still staring dumbly at the room and not going inside. He stepped in and looked around. Small twin bed. Table and chair. A refresher room: complete with a tiny sink, mirror and toilet.

 

“Oh,” Finn said. “Why?”

 

Poe stepped in behind him and shut the door. “What do you mean, why?”

 

“Does everyone get their own rooms?”

 

Poe shrugged. “No.” 

 

“So,” Finn began, but Poe wouldn't let him finish.

 

“Don't even start. You saved too many lives to count--including  _ mine _ , by the way--and gave us so much useful information about the First Order. I asked General Organa to get you a quarters right next to mine. And since I'm the best pilot in the Resistance, dunno if I've mentioned that or not, I don't live too shabby.” Poe kept his dark eyes fixed on Finn all while he spoke. “If you want to room next to me, I mean.”

 

“Yeah, of course, I mean, I wouldn't  _ not _ want to room next to…” He let out a breath he'd been holding and sat down on the twin bed. “This is just a bit. A bit much.” The rebel insignia was painted on the ceiling, a rebel flag hung on the wall. He wore a rebel jacket. The best rebel fighter pilot crossed the room to sit close next to him.

 

“It’s a bit much,” Finn said. Images of conditioning flashes across his mind. Emaciated children with hollowed out eyes. Bodies piled up. This is what a world without the First Order looks like, they said. The rebels want the people to starve.

 

Poe gingerly placed a hand on his leg. “You're kind of shaking.”

 

It wasn't true, and Finn knew this. The propaganda was just to convince him it was morally his duty to kill for the First Order. He and the other stormtroopers weren't allowed to sleep until the holos were over, or they were punished. There were no clocks or windows so they never knew what time of day it was. Even when they finally did get to sleep, the nightmares of what they'd seen woke them up with tears.

 

Finn remembered, suddenly, the stormtrooper that’d attacked him. FN-2199, or Nines, who'd used to be his friend.  _ Traitor.  _ Finn--no, that wasn't his name, really. FN-2187. Eight Seven remembered doing push ups next to Nines. Remembered the two of them teasing Slip for falling behind of the count, but covering for him so the supervisor didn't notice and punish Slip.

 

“Finn,” Poe said, but it felt like he was so far away right now. The name he'd only been using for only a few weeks felt so far away right now. Eight Seven remembered 2003’s fingers trail down his helmet as he took his last breath. Slip, untidy dark hair, bright green eyes. Not too unlike Poe. So eager for the first battle. So eager to accompany Kylo Ren and prove his worth. So eager to die without a family or real name.

 

2187 felt a hand on his back. He blinked. Poe scooted closer to him on the bed, their thighs pressed together. “Buddy? You with me?”

 

Eight Seven didn't answer, but not out of disobedience. It felt like his mouth was filled with cotton.

 

“Finn,” Poe said, slowly. The name rolled off his tongue and filled Finn’s ears like water. Finn. That's right. No First Order, no Phasma, no conditioning. No Nines or Slip or anyone. Here. Rebel base. Poe. “Finn, you with me?”

 

“Yeah,” Finn said, after a moment. “Where else would I be?”

 

“‘Where else would’…” Poe laughed again, but this time it came out a worried bark. He was quiet for a long minute, but didn't move away. “If you don’t like the room, you know, you can be wherever you want. You don't have to stay anywhere near me. You can stay in the  _ kitchens _ if you want to. I just thought--”

 

“It's not that,” Finn said, hastily. “I just don't want to be kept up here doing nothing. I want to be out in the fight.” Where there's no time for memories.

 

“You know what the doc said.”

 

Yeah, he knew. Finn needed to take it easy. His burns and cuts would heal, but his back injury could easily be exaberated into something worse and irreparable if he didn't take it easy for a few weeks.

 

Finn stood up abruptly, ignored the flash of hurt across Poe’s face. “I can't stand the thought of you, Rey, everyone being out there fighting the good fight while I just stay here like a useless drain on resources,” he spat out.

 

Poe stared at him for a minute, and then looked away. “Actually, I’m… not allowed out in the field for a few weeks either.” Finn blinked at him stupidly. Had Poe been injured badly, too, and he was too wrapped up in his own inner turmoil to notice it? As if sensing the question Poe continued, “Nothing physically to recover from. I just need a full psych clearing before General Organa will let me return to duty. When entire planet systems were at stake we needed every man we had, so I convinced her to let me go, but now that we have a minute to breathe she's just not hearing it.”

 

Oh. Finn felt like an idiot. Of course he would need to recover, too. Kylo Ren wasn't exactly gentle not to mess anything up when he went tearing into people's minds.

 

Finn sat down again on the cot. Not as close, but close enough. “Sorry.”

 

Poe winced. “It's fine. We can work out, I can show you around, all that stuff. Then before you know it you'll be healed and I’ll be cleared, with the file to prove it.”

 

“Yeah, sounds great.” Great was a stretch. But it wouldn't be as bad with Poe here. Wouldn't be as awful if he was away fighting and Finn was by himself. “Yeah. First thing tomorrow?”

 

Poe finally rose his gaze again to Finn’s and gave that cocky smile. “Yeah, first thing.” He took that for a cue and stood to leave.

 

“Wait,” Finn said.

 

Poe raised an eyebrow.

 

“I'm sure the General is doing what she thinks is best, but uh, I don’t think you need a psych eval.”

 

“Uh, thanks?”

 

“No, I just meant.” Finn internally cringed. It sounded like a compliment in his head. “You know even though you have, issues, I don't think you'd let it get in the way of the mission.” Now he made it worse. “I'm just saying, no one could get over Kylo Ren’s--” Poe’s expression visibly hardened at the name, and Finn scrambled to backtrack. “I just mean--”

 

“I get it,” Poe said, not unkindly. “See you tomorrow.” He left quickly and shut the door behind him, before Finn could say something else compellingly stupid.

 

Finn threw himself back onto the cot and let out a frustrated groan. He made a mental note to actually think before he talked when he met up with Poe tomorrow. Ah, tomorrow. A whole new day to stick his foot in his mouth.

 

He touched his back, still wrapped in gauze where Kylo Ren sliced into it with his lightsaber. The pain wasn't so bad now, mostly due to whatever drugs the hospital put him on. It was still there, though. Dulled, but there.

 

He glanced out the little window next to his cot and saw the stars. He wondered where Rey was right now. If she had found Luke Skywalker. If she was looking up at the same stars.

 

He didn't need this recovery. He wondered what Nines and the others would say if he saw him now. Phasma always said he had so much potential. Finn clenched his fist.

  
No, he didn't need recovery. He needed to be fighting. He needed not to have room for thoughts, or memories. He needed to not have room to breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> This will only be two or three chapters long. I know I should be working on 21Stormpilots, and that's coming soon, sorry for the delay! School is finally out so I have way more time to write.


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